


Alone

by Nebou



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, because hilbert experienced some p fucked up shit as a kiddo, children experiencing trauma and hurt in general, just hilbert things, thank u gabriel urbina, using cats as comfort, watching your entire family die before your eyes, yelling at faculty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebou/pseuds/Nebou
Summary: in which a young Dmitri learns the pain of loneliness





	

Dmitri was three years old and he couldn’t wait for kindergarten.        

His mother told him it would be a few years until then, but he wasn’t content to wait. When he and his mother went to pick up Olga and Marya from school, Dmitri would pester them about what they learned until one of them gave- usually Olga, since Marya often acted like she was above humoring the whims of her youngest brother, opting instead to stare ahead with a hard gaze like something required her absolute, unfaltering attention, and only giving her task rest when their mother made a comment or fretted over her hat or scarf, which might have fallen slightly out of place. 

Olga took Dmitri’s hand and pulled them ahead of the other two, bowing slightly to get closer to his face. 

“Today, we practiced our handwriting, mostly. It kinda sucked though ‘cause after my hand really hurt,” she shook the hand that wasn’t holding his, as if the pain persisted and she had to shake it off like droplets of water. Dmitri nodded like he understood. He thought of when his feet would always begin to ache after a while from standing on his tiptoes to watch his mother make lunch or dinner. Dmitri imagined it was something like that. 

“You’re lucky, you get to stay home all day and play.” 

He frowned at that, and with as much indignance a three year old could muster, he responded “I want to go to school,” before tugging his hand out of hers and folding his arms across his chest haughtily. Olga puffed her cheeks out, poking him in the side where she knew he was ticklish. 

With an indignant squawk, Dmitri tried to slap her hand away before she could pursue, but his reflexes were slow and the large coat his mother had dressed him in restricted his movements, and he only succeeded in flailing uselessly while his older sister took advantage of his compromised state, tackling him to ground, and making a Dmitri sized dent in the snow beneath them. For a moment, he slapped at her arms clumsily with mittened hands, but Olga started tickling the thin skin of his neck, and it was all he could do to keep her chilled fingers away from him while he giggled uncontrollably. “Olya! S-top! Mama! Make her- Stop!” 

With the suddenness that she had pushed him down, Olga gathered him into her arms, trapping his own struggling arms against his body, drawing him into a painfully tight hug. “Mitya! You’re so cute! My sweet  _ solnyshko! _ ” But Dmitri was not fooled, and endured her embrace with the most disgruntled face he could muster while his mother laughed under her breath and Marya pretended like she wasn't forcing down a smile herself. 

He held out for as long as he could, but then Olga started kissing his cold, red cheeks, missing sometimes and glancing off the side of his eye or nose, and the warmth and love of this situation sneaked up on him and he couldn’t help cracking a smile and wrapping his stubby arms around his sister as if she had not just bullied him into submission. It was okay though. Eventually their mother pulled them both off the cold snowy ground and lightly chastised them, fixing their hats in place and pulling their coats more securely onto their person. 

Olga fiddled with his scarf, pretending like she was doing something, before patting him on the head and grabbing his hand once more. 

 

Dinner was warm and thick and smelled like spices and meat. Dmitri shared a seat with Olga, their sides pressed against each other as they not so subtly jostled each other impishly. On Olga’s side sat Ivan, followed by Marya, then grandmother, grandfather, dad, and mom, who was seated on Dmitri’s side. 

Their plates were small but the dishes that covered the table were large and were intended to give everyone seconds and have enough for leftovers. It didn't stop Marya or Ivan, though, from argueing over who got bigger portions of what. Olga and Dmitri were decidedly more cooperative: Olga had all the meats and fruits on her plate while Dmitri piled his with breads and vegetables, then they would take turn eating of their own and each other's plates. His mother would always give them a judging look, like she herself was deciding whether or not she approved of their manners, but Dmitri made sure not to make a mess and Olga didn't either so his mother never brought it up.

Across the table, Dmitri’s father talked amicably with the grandparents while mother only occasionally commented, opting instead to have her focus on the bickering siblings across from her, tiredly doing her best to keep Ivan from ‘accidentally’ spilling his juice in Marya’s soup or from Marya ‘accidentally’ stabbing Ivan with her steak knife. Despite their mother’s heroic efforts, by some method of Marya stepping on Ivan’s toe from under the table, the table itself was disturbed, causing the glass and porcelain to rattle dangerously. Nothing had fallen over, but the sudden commotion earned both Marya and Ivan a stern stare from their father. 

In Dmitri’s surprise, he dropped his spoon, which he had previously been using to carefully bring his mother’s soup to his mouth, and it landed with a dull clatter against the hardwood flooring. The loss had gone unnoticed by his mother, who was busy reprimanding her other children, but Olga, who was all but glued to his side, stared down at the fallen silverware with Dmitri. The spoon itself didn’t mean that much to Dmitri, but the knowledge that he couldn’t eat his soup anymore was disproportionately heartbreaking to him in the moment. His breath hitched but before the tears could finish forming in his eyes, a new spoon had been presented before him. 

Olga held the spoon steadily, careful not to spill any of its hot contents on either of their laps, and looked at Dmitri with a kind smile. “Open up!”

The soup had not be properly cooled, hot droplets escaped the corners of his mouth and fell down his chin, dripping slightly onto the cotton of his shirt collar. But it was his mother’s soup and it was warm and the look of satisfaction on his sister’s face was even warmer. Dmitri decided this was a suitable replacement. 

 

Dmitri was turning four soon, this meant his mother expected him to put silverware on the table and tie his own shoes. Dmitri regarded that both of these tasks were easy enough and well below his expertise. 

When his mother wasn’t taking him along to do errands and his grandparents weren’t taking him to the park, he spent much of his time in the bedroom he and his siblings shared, building with the blocks his father had brought home with him one day and studying Olga’s schoolwork and trying to decipher the symbols on the paper. He already knew how to spell his name, along with the names of all his siblings and the words ‘mama’ and ‘papa’ and other assorted words his mother taught him in passing. He knew how to add and subtract and when his grandfather taught him about multiplication he caught on quickly. 

His parents would often remark how smart he is, and coo over him and talk about how Marya didn’t learn how to write her name until she was five or how Ivan and Olga had a tough time learning math. His father would say he was a prodigy, and his mother would pull him away from whatever it was he was doing and sit him in her lap and rock him like he was a baby. This annoyed Dmitri a bit because it would make him lose his train of thought and he didn’t like to be treated like a toddler, but he would allow it because it was his mother and it comforted him that she was there. 

Back when Dmitri had first learned how to write his name, though, his parents had not been nearly as attentive in his accomplishment. 

He had just scribbled out the character’s for his name in shaky, blockly letters that took up half the page. Olga was with him, pointing out the correct letters for him to us on a paper she had gotten from school that had the entire Russian alphabet on it. 

Dmitri was excited, his felt it in his fingers as they held too tightly on the paper he had scrawled his name on the and pencil he had scrawled with. His face felt flushed and he immediately needed to to show everyone in his vicinity. Olga seemed excited too guiding Dmitri forward to their parents room by the shoulders, her hands gripping a little too tightly. 

Their parents did not argue often.

But sometimes, they did, and they were then. 

Dmitri tried not to let this deter him. Inspired by the comfort of Olga behind his back, he held his paper up in the air and did his best to gain their attention. “Papa! Mama, look!” 

They both glanced down at him distractedly, words caught in their mouth before his father patted him on the head and shooed them out, while his mother told Olga to keep themselves busy until they were done talking.

The door closed behind them with a click and Dmitri felt both put on and oddly embarrassed. The paper in his hand felt big and sharp and shaky and not at all as important as it had a moment ago. Olga still had her hands on Dmitri’s shoulder’s, and she squeezed them in apology.

“Don’t be sad, Mitya, you still did a great thing.” She tugged the paper gently from his hand and flipped it, showed him the side with his blocky handwriting. Her face was apologetic, but she still maintained a small smile across it. “Look, you did this. It’s an accomplishment! You should be proud, even if mama and papa are being mean and can’t appreciate it,” she held out his paper for him to take. 

Dmitri spent the next ten minutes sulking and mulling over how unfair and wrong the world was before Olga managed to distract him with a picture book. 

 

One day after his mother and Dmitri had retrieved Marya and Olga from school, they found a cat in their living room. Marya sneezed at the same time Olga squealed in delight. Dmitri stood still, one hand caught in his mother’s, the other cold at his side. He frantically glanced between his mother who looked perplexed(which made sense because they live on the third floor and Dmitri didn't think cats could jump that high) and the cat, which had then started rubbing itself all over Olga, covering her in long brown hairs. Dmitri could hear the rain still pouring outside. 

Olga looked back at their mother. “Can we keep it?” But before she could even finish, their mother was shaking her head. 

“I don’t think so.”

To his surprise, it was Marya who spoke up first, her tone defiant. 

“Why not?” She’s held her face weirdly, and Dmitri began to think she should have dressed warmer for the poor weather. 

“We can’t keep random strays-”

“He’s not random, he’s special!”

“He’s very sweet too, look!” They both looked down to Olga, who had the cat purring in her lap as she petted him in long strokes that started from the top of it’s head to the tip of its bushy tail. Marya sat down beside her on the rug, taking the cat from her little sister’s lap with mild protest and into her own, then looked expectantly at their mother. 

His mother looked tiredly at her eldest, then Olga, and finally Dmitri, who was still holding her hand, feeling apprehensive and also too warm because he hadn’t taken his coat off yet. “What do you think,  _ zvyozdochka _ ?”

Dmitri looked at the cat, unusually at home in his eldest sister’s lap, and then at his sisters: Marya, who was glaring at him with an intensity that said she knew where she can put his blocks where he can’t reach them, and Olga, who was nodding encouragingly. He looked at his mom.

“I want a cat.”

 

Marya named him Sokol. Sokol mostly slept with either Marya or Ivan, but occasionally, Dmitri would find the cat snuggled between him and Olga, on top of the thick woolen blanket they shared. 

Dmitri’s birthday was coming soon, or so he was told. He saw less of his father and Ivan. Olga told him that was okay, because Dmitri would always have her company, and even more so when he would start going to school with her. She seemed really excited at the thought, and that made him excited too. 

One day, she brought a book from the library home with her. Marya was busy studying, so Sokol had curled up in Dmitri’s lap where he knew he would get pet. Olga showed Dmitri the cover of the book, which was black and decorated with blurry white dots he assumed to be stars. 

“It’s about stars,” she began, opening the book and making the plastic binding crinkle. The first page had many symbols, but before Dmitri could try to decipher any of the letters, his older sister quickly flipped to the next page. This page had a picture like the cover of the book, only instead of there being tiny white dots, there was instead a large, reddish orange blob. Olga pointed at it. “This is our sun,” she announced proudly, “it’s a star.” Dmitri wordlessly nodded, taking her words to heart while his fingers stroked through Sokol’s fur. “It’s red, which makes it- that means it’s a cold star, but it’s still really hot to us, I think.” She flipped to the next page where there was an illustration of circle, ranging from red to green to purple. “The more closer they get to the purple one, that means they’re more hot.” she dragged her fingers left to right, and when the tip of her finger reached the purple circle, she jolted, snatching her finger away and feigning hurt, as if the the purple star had actually burned her. He jumped, making Sokol lurch from his lap and out of their room, leaving his lap cold. After a quick moment of startled confusion, Dmitri caught on and giggled at his Olga’s silliness, earning him an affectionate grin. She flipped to the next page, but there was no accompanying picture on this one, only more words that Dmitri could not read yet. 

Olga opened her mouth to presumably explain the words for him, but at that moment their mother peeked in on them, knocking gently on the hard door frame with her knuckles, startling both children this time. “Olya, your father and Ivanushka just got home, time for dinner. And help Mitya wash his hands,” and with the suddenness that she had appeared, she left. Dmitri idly registered the sound of her walking further down the hall and knocking on the door frame to the study. 

With all the reluctance and drama she could, Olga closed the book and tossed it onto their bed, letting it land with a flop face down. 

After dinner, Dmitri would remind her of the book, and they would go through the rest with Olga paraphrasing the contents of it, as Dmitri looked at the occasional pictures with growing stars in his eyes. 

 

Dmitri didn’t feel good. He’s four and he’s been having terribly painful headaches. Every time he stands, he has to take a moment or else he’ll fall over. Olga isn’t doing much better, but they’re both doing better than Marya ,or Ivan, or their grandparents, or really any of their other family members.

They’re in a new town and his father looks very stressed and whenever he’s homes he frets over all of them, even grandmother and grandfather, who both cough more than Dmitri thinks is usual for them. He wishes he could help but he’s small and weak and cries every time he has to rush to the bathroom and vomit. Mostly he stays in his new bedroom with the rest of his siblings. 

He hasn’t seen his mother or Sokol since they got on the buses. 

 

Marya hasn’t said anything in awhile and she hasn’t moved either. Dmitri thinks she might be sleeping but isn’t entirely sure because Ivan was like that too before their father carried him out of the room with a hard face that made him look like not their father. After a long time, he came back and started talking to them and explaining things that make Dmitri want to cover his ears and wait for Ivan and mom to come back. Olga kept holding him, patting his head and trying not to cough but it only made Dmitri cry harder. He didn’t know what was going on but he also thinks he did and it scares him. Their father stopped trying to explain and decided to check up on their grandparents again, speaking only in hushed voices.

His body felt like stale milk and his mouth tasted like iron. It made him angry because if he felt better, he could get Olga a glass of water or check up on Marya or hug his dad. Mostly it just made him feel sad, though, and he has to try to fight back the tears occasionally because when he cried, Olga did too, and when Olga cried it made him him feel even worse. 

 

A while had passed and Dmitri felt better. Olga was still sick but he thought she would get better with time, too. 

They hadn’t seen their grandparents or Marya for a while and Dmitri thinks he knew why but he didn’t want to think about it because he knew it would just make him sad again. So instead he did his best to take care of Olga. He got her water, even when she didn’t ask, but sometimes the faucet didn’t work and he couldn’t fix it, That frustrated him, so he tried doing other things to make up for it. He helped his father wash the laundry, and after a while he learned to do it without his father’s help. When he and Olga were allowed baths, he washed them both to the best of his ability. It was when they were bathing that Dmitri realized how much hair was falling out of their heads. 

In a panic, Dmitri clambered out of the tub as fast as he could and stumbled to where his father was resting, dripping and cold and naked as the day he was born with a fistful of Olga’s soapy hair in his small fist. 

When his father finally startled awake from Dmitri fervently shaking his shoulder, he laughed. Hard and harsh and slightly hysterical and Dmitri didn’t know how to react to that because that wasn’t what he had been expecting at all but then father clasped his thin shoulder with his large hand and said that it’s okay, everyone else had been balding too. His father pulled the cap off his head to reveal his own bald scalp before running his hand through Dmitri’s hair, pulling back to reveal that, in his palm, lied Dmitri’s hair. “See, Mitya, even you, and you are not as sickly as before, no?”  He then gathered the hair from Dmitri’s fist, got up, and tossed it in the small receptacle by the front door before taking it and placing the receptacle in Dmitri’s hands. Giving him a kiss on the forehead, he walked him back to the bathroom where Olga had sat up in the tub looking both alert and sheepish. They spend the rest of the bath catching the loose hairs from the bath water and scraping their fingers through their scalps to catch all the loose hairs there, too. 

By the end, they both look like shaved cats. When Dmitri said that, Olga had bursted into laughter, coughing and hacking between breaths. 

 

Dmitri’s hungry and tired when the officers show up for them. Dmitri’s father was supposed to come home just after sunset and it was then late enough for Dmitri to have to force himself awake. The presence of the strangers made him defensive, and he shook Olga awake more roughly than he should. One of the officers, a slight man with a thick beard, kneeled down and asked if they were Ilya’s children. Olga was still waking up so it was Dmitri who nodded. 

That night they were taken to many places, and by the morning, they were at the gates of the orphanage with the cold morning wind biting at their cheeks.

 

Dmitri decidedly did not get along with the other children. They were rough and and whiny and there were too many of them for Dmitri to feel safe. Olga and him get separate beds and seperate rooms and that put him on edge. The caretakers looked tired and overworked and just a touch tragic but still smiled kindly. Dmitri and Olga kept to themselves and did not start trouble and he thinks that the caretakers appreciated that among the cacophony of other children. 

The orphanage had a small library and Dmitri brought books back for Olga to read. She read slowly and had to take many breaks but Dmitri was okay with this. He followed along and when she took breaks he tried to parse words together and follow Olga’s example of enunciating the words and matching the letters with their sounds. Olga nodded and clapped when he got it right and he felt so happy the first time he was able to read an entire sentence by himself. After that, he started reading to Olga. 

Olga was still sad though. 

Dmitri tried to entertain her but there was only so much he could do. He was almost six years old, he thought, and would be attending primary school soon. Part of him worried about what Olga would do when he was gone, another part was just as excited at the prospect of school when his mother first brought it up. 

Another part of him was scared of what might happen to Olga while he wasn’t  looking. 

He brought the issue up with one of the caretakers and she patted his bald head and told him not to worry. 

That did not bode well for Dmitri.

He slapped her hand away and reiterated himself steely. “Will you take care of Olga while I’m not with her?”

The caretaker looked taken aback by this small child’s sudden behavior, holding her offending hand to her chest while she composed herself. Dmitri felt bad a little, but he knew he needed a serious answer. He needed them to know that he knew how much of a lie ‘it’s okay’ could be and that ‘don’t worry’ did not make things better. 

“Dmitri, I understand you’ve been through a lot lately, but you need to trust us, okay?” She tried another reassuring smile. Dmitri did not feel any better, but he somehow knew this was the best he would get. 

When he walked back to Olga’s new room, he was grumpy and looked even more weary than his sickly appearance already suggested. Olga sat up as soon as she saw his face, distressed at her little brother’s upset demeanor. Dmitri was tempted to say something, but Olga didn’t ask, so he didn’t. 

The glass window drained what little heat the room had, but Dmitri found his older sister’s bed was warm and his sister warmer yet . and he fell asleep cuddled as close to her as he could get, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist while he tried not to shake too much while she petted his bald head. 

 

On his first walk home from school, Dmitri found a cat. It was white with brown spots and skinny and had one ear and no tail but Dmitri brought it back to the orphanage with him. After much convincing and puppy eyes by both Dmitri and Olga respectively, the caretakers let them keep it. 

Olga named it Orel. 

 

One cat turned into too many but Olga was responsible and kept them to herself. She was getting sicker and so the caretakers moved her to share a room with another bald child who stared blankly out of the window most of the time Dmitri was there. 

The orphanage got a television for some of the rooms in the Sick Ward. Big boxes with big V-shaped antennas on their tops and dials off to the side. The caretakers said they’re lucky to have been placed in such a well funded orphanage, but Dmitri thought there was nothing lucky about being placed in an orphanage, though he didn’t say this to anyone but Olga. 

Dmitri did very well in school. In fact, better than all the other students. The teachers were surprised when he told them he knew how to read, and when they tested his math skills, he apparently tested high enough that they had to place him in a class of students who were at least twice his height. 

He was not intimidated but he suspected that most others were. When he told Olga, she seemed very proud of him, which at first made Dmitri feel confident and giddy, but then, he was reminded of the look of pride on his father’s face and the warm embrace of his mother…

Dmitri could not remember her face.

When he started crying this time, Olga only weakly tugged him closer to her, disturbing one of the cats that had rested in his lap while he was recounting the past school day to Olga. She didn’t say anything but she didn’t need to, Dmitri was comforted just to have her there. 

After his breathing had calmed, Dmitri composed himself and went to go get an extra blanket for them. 

On his way back, he spotted three caretakers talking amongst themselves at the end of the hallway, past the door to Olga’s room. Normally he wouldn’t have paid them mind but they were holding themselves the same way his father held himself when he was talking with his grandparents after they had been evacuated from Volgograd. 

Dmitri slowed his steps and drew into himself, trying to look as small as possible in case they noticed him. Over the quiet steps he made on the linoleum floor, he heard the shortest of the trio talking very fast and quietly. He couldn’t make out much but he heard the words “splurge” and “resources” and “management.”

The other one with long hair looked like she was seething and talked through clenched teeth but Dmitri was able to make out her words as he finally approached his sisters room. 

“They will be fine. When the time comes we can put them on medication, but until then, our funds are better spent improving the facility. Besides, you’ve seen them, most of them won’t last, we can at least let those children pass on in relative comfort.”

That night, Dmitri stayed up late with thoughts about Olga and medication. When he did finally manage rest, it was not dreamless. 

 

The rain was beating hard on the outside of Olga’s window. The cats were all either napping at the end of the bed or on the pillows Olga had Dmitri place in the corner of the room even though the caretakers said it was a waste. Olga’s taciturn roommate was out so it was just her and Dmitri watching the TV. 

He had tried to bring up the topic he had overheard that afternoon up again but his older sister had shot him down once again, opting instead to smother him and call him as many synonyms for cute as she could think until she thought he had forgotten. Dmitri knew she was avoiding the topic, but he wanted to talk about it as much as she did so he relented even though he felt he shouldn’t. It weighed on him though, the full implications of their words refusing to set in his mind and it was all very frustrating. 

Dmitri was still top of his class and his teachers were talking about giving him more tests that would place him in classes with even taller students. Dmitri didn’t really mind because he already stuck out with other kids his age with his odd, sickly appearance. Though the teachers favored him, the other students weren’t as kind, and often called him names that were supposed to hurt him but mostly just grinded his nerves for their inaccuracy. 

Someone on the television screamed and Olga visibly jumped beside him, and Orel, who had been sprawled in her lap, jumped too before dashing off the bed with his hairs raised. 

Dmitri wondered when the caretakers would take Olga to see an actual doctor. 

The next day after school. Hilbert lectured the staff for five minutes before they escorted him out of the nurse's office. He hadn’t put up a fight, he knew when he was outmatched, but he returned the head nurse’s stink eye as best a seven year old could. 

When he entered Olga’s room after, it was empty save for the furniture and the cats. Olga was most likely getting her weekly checkup, which Dmitri knew didn’t take long. It was barely a decision for him to wait as he sat on the end of her bed and dropped his backpack off his shoulders and onto the floor, shuffling through loose paper and textbooks before grabbing the astronomy book he had picked up from the library yesterday. He opened it to the table of contents, intending to read it, but found he was still too incensed from being ignored to focus on the words. If he could focus on the words before him, he knew he could get lost in that, and forget that his sister was… He threw the books across the room, and it hit the opposing wall with a thud before falling to the floor, crumpling the papers inside against the linoleum. His eyes stung and he felt no better after throwing the book than he did before. Before the tears could fall, he rubbed his eyes forcibly, making himself focus on the ache that induced than anything else, but it wasn’t any use, and his thoughts drifted in between Olga and the rest of his family. 

There was a point of light pressure against his thigh, and when Dmitri looked, he found one the cats Olga had adopted, Igla. The silver haired cat uncaringly pawed into Dmitri’s lap before sprawling out, belly up, already purring in anticipation. Hesitantly, his hand carded through the soft fur of it’s belly, silky between his fingers and Igla managed to purr even louder in contentment. 

By time Olga came back Dmitri was covered in silver hairs and, though he felt calmer, the appearance of his sickly sister brought back a slew of frustrated thoughts. 

 

Dmitri was eight and his hand was a hair's breadth away from the cold steel of the doorknob to Olga’s room when someone yanked him by the collar, winding him and leaving him tumbling away from the door. Above him, he saw Ivan, one of the few kids in his class who was from the orphanage too. He was brutish in shape and  though while not one the dumbest kids in his class, he was certainly one of the crueller ones. Dmitri gave him a wide berth- or at least tried to.

“Where d’you think you’re going, Volodin?” Ivan sneered down at Dmitri where he lay sprawled on the floor.

Dmitri glared back as he stood up. At his full height, Dmitri was less than armpit height with Ivan, and it didn’t take a genius to know who would win that fight, so Dmitri crossed his arms, stared at Ivan’s feet and muttered “go away, Morozov.”

That, apparently, was not the correct response and Ivan merely shoved him down again. Dmitri hit the floor hard, his butt and palms taking the brunt of the hurt while Ivan snickered. When he tried to get up again, Ivan pushed him against the wall by his collar. From the corners of his eyes, Dmitri could not see any caretakers, much to his dismay.

“God, you’re so pathetic, this is no fun, it’s like taking candy from a baby,” and for a final time he tossed Dmitri to the ground. Dmitri got up again slowly, in case Ivan wasn’t done with him, but the older boy was already turning away, hands in his pockets and posture relaxed.

At that moment, the door to Olga’s room opened, and Dmitri expected her taciturn roommate or a caretaker to walk out. Instead, he saw Olga standing for the first time in over a year, her face confused, at first, but as she took in Dmitri’s rugged appearance and Ivan’s half vanishing smirk, a dark expression crossed her face. 

“You!” She jabbed a thin finger towards Ivan, “did you hurt my baby brother?”

Ivan’s smirk faltered as he took a moment to absorb her words and her pallid appearance and bald head, but once he realized she wasn't a threat the smirk returned. He started to say something along the lines of ‘what’s it to you?’ or ‘what you gonna do ‘bout it?’ but Olga didn’t seem entirely interested with his tone and then with all the power that someone at death's bed should not have, Olga punched the other boy square in the face. 

Dmitri could all but feel his jaw hit the ground. The punch didn’t look particularly strong, but at the same time it was infinitely stronger than anything he would have thought Olga capable of with her health. Back up the hall he heard the hurried clicking of shoes on linoleum and he was very thankful in that moment because he did not want to think about what might’ve happened then had no one come to interfere. 

 

Dmitri was almost nine. His hair had mostly grown back, but Olga was still bald. They still had not given Olga treatment and after the incident with Ivan, Olga’s condition had worsened at a disturbing rate. After the caretaker had descalated the situation, Dmitri explained to Olga who Ivan was from the safety of her room, the blankets warm over their laps.

“He has the same name as Ivanushka? That’s funny.” Her voice was airy but her smile seemed genuine.

The name sounded familiar, but Dmitri couldn’t quite place why and was afraid to ask. 

Dmitri had to take care of the cats himself now, and Olga spent most of her days either sleeping or curled up in pain. He was smart but he didn’t know what to do for his sister anymore. He went to the nurse’s office every day to demand when they would get the medication his sister needed, but they would always give him nonanswers. 

He wished he was a doctor so he could just treat her himself. He was smart, he could do it. He wished none of his family had gone.

 

Dmitri thought back on what went wrong. He should’ve spent less time crying, less time whining. He should’ve argued harder, been less polite and more demanding. He wished he had his family, but the least he can do now is make sure they’re deaths weren’t in vain. Dmitri had never felt more alone in his life. 

 

-

 

Hilbert roughly rubbed his bruised hand. Kepler hadn’t slammed the drawer hard enough to break anything, Hilbert had checked, but the affected flesh was already turning a dark color. The data from Eiffel's blood sample still filled his monitor. He had to think, could he convince Kepler to go back on his word. Laughable. Convince Eiffel to change his mind? Unlikely, on top of the fact he would still be disobeying a direct order, so it was risky gamble resting on Eiffel’s ability to keep his mouth shut, which Eiffel seemed only capable of in regards to his… circumstances. Keep testing and managing Eiffel’s condition with no one noticing? Difficult, with Dr. Maxwell on board, but not impossible. 

Either way, his hands were tied until the SI-5 was managed. Hilbert didn't doubt Lovelace could kill one if them if she was pushed, but Minkowski and Eiffel has proven their ineptitude to grasp opportunity. With enough time, though, they could be persuaded. They would see what needed to be done, or it would be too late. 

His lab felt strangely empty. Nothing was out of place, his usual tools still out where he put them. He himself was in his usual spot, in the middle of the room, facing the monitor like he had many times before, straining his eyes against the dull screen, his glasses pushed up against the bridge of his nose. 

To have his work officially shut down- by Kepler, no less. Not that his work was ever truly official, neither Goddard nor the Russian government could get away with shamelessly using human subjects, even they couldn't get away with that much.

When Hilbert had told Eiffel about… he thought that a bleeding heart like Eiffel would understand. It was a mistake on his part that he let himself slip, let himself be provoked by Eiffel, of all people. At the time, Hilbert was able to console himself that he could use that to reintegrate himself into the crew, use his own tragic circumstance as a convenient wedge to open the door between him and the crew, unite himself with Minkowski and Effiel to combat their common enemy(Lovelace, at the time. The SI-5, now). 

He wasn't a fool, he didn't think Eiffel would immediately turn sides, but over time, he was certain he would, and eventually the rest would follow and use Hilbert and his intellect to their advantage.

But Eiffel had said no, said he didn't want to be part of something world changing under Kepler’s manipulative gaze, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Hilbert turned away from the monitor and gathered the tubes that had been siphoning Eiffel’s blood into the computer, detaching them from their various extensions and removing the thin needle that had been poking Eiffel’s cephalic vein, placing it in the appropriate receptacle. He neatly pressed the tubes back into their compartment at the side of the terminal and attached the end securely into the saline port before executing the decontamination protocol. He would finish up writing his analysis of the results, along with 'final’ notes and hypothese, just enough for Kepler to allay most of his suspicions. Not all of them, because Kepler wasn't that type of man, but just enough for reasonable doubt. And when all that was done, he would plot. 

First, he needed Minkowski to come around. Once she came around, it would only be a matter of time before Eiffel came to see reason too, and by extension, the AI. With a proper team, they would have a fighting chance in get rid of the SI-5’s influence over the Hephaestus. With Kepler, Jacobi, and Dr. Maxwell gone, it would be no matter for Hilbert to safely and secretly continue his research. 

The terminal let out a sharp ping, notifying Hilbert that the tubes had been safely decontaminated and are ready for reuse. 

Hilbert was so close. Closer than he had ever been. The evidence was in Eiffel's previously dead nail bed. Kepler couldn’t deny that; just like none of them could deny how many Decima would save.

Soon, alone would be afraid of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> solnyshko - little sun  
> zvyozdochka - little star  
> sokol - hawk  
> orel - eagle  
> igla - needle
> 
> Cultural Notes:  
> as for why hilbert's family refers to him as Mitya and not Dmitri, Olga as Olya, Ivan and Ivanushka, etc, that is because in Russia, family members generally refer to other family members by their Dimunitive Names, which are basically affectionate alias' that are used among ppl one is especially close to  
> if you want further context for how i named hilbert's family and the cats, i suggest reading up on the Koschei the Deathless lore
> 
> pls let me know if there are any errors, grammatically or culturally, and i'll fix them(im not Russian and there's only so much i can research on my own)!!


End file.
